


In Vain

by DevilMadeMeDoIt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Blasphemy, Dominant/Top Dean, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex, Submissive/Bottom Castiel, angel orgasms are bad for light bulbs, dean is a smug bastard, red leather cuffs, sam is uncomfortable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilMadeMeDoIt/pseuds/DevilMadeMeDoIt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heaven only knew how many times they had done this. </p>
<p>The first time it had burst from his lips he had been nearly out of his mind with the pleasure of hard flesh beating against his in a wicked, bone-jarring rhythm, he had screamed out, in supplication, in worship of the human he had once gambled his very existence on to raise from the depths of Hell. The flash of unbridled lust in green eyes above him before his head had been thrown back with a shout, reared back like a pagan god had wrung from him the most intense climax he had yet experienced. They had woken the next morning to reports of a sudden, freak power outage spread across the entire motel complex. </p>
<p>Dean had been smug. Castiel had nearly combusted with the fierceness of his blushing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Vain

 

“Dean, _please_...” Castiel sobbed out brokenly, the hot coil of pleasure in his belly threatening to overwhelm him yet again as he thrashed on scratchy motel sheets soaked with his sweat. Even the rough abrasion of cheap cotton against his overheated skin sent sparks of need shooting though his body, dancing in flashes of light behind his eyelids; each slow, tortuously precise slide of Dean's cock within him rocking him into the thin mattress. He gasped when a cool, wet mouth brushed over his chest and felt himself tighten involuntarily around the thickness filling him when a low, dark chuckle sent puffs of damp breath skittering across his skin. Dean's tongue circled, hot and slick, around a tender, swollen nipple and Castiel whimpered, hands bound above his head straining against chain and thick red leather as the well-bitten, puffy nub hardened beneath the attention. “Mm not until you say it. You know how this game goes, angel.”

 

And he did. At this point however, he was almost regretting not letting Dean slip the cock ring onto his aching length before they'd begun. Almost. The game was this: Castiel would surrender himself, place control of his body in Dean's hands, allow himself to be bound, grace and body alike. Dean would take him, their bodies married at their joining, at hands and mouths on each other's skin, and Castiel would wait, body crying out for release as he pushed himself further and further, wait for the moment Dean would permit it. The caveat for their game was that although the power was in Dean's hands, the control was ultimately Castiel's. One word from his lips could end the sweet torture. He need only cry out the word, the _name_ , and he would be free.

 

Heaven only knew how many times they had done this. The first time it had burst from his lips he had been nearly out of his mind with the pleasure of hard flesh beating against his in a wicked, bone-jarring rhythm, he had screamed out, in supplication, in worship of the human he had once gambled his very existence on to raise from the depths of Hell. The flash of unbridled lust in green eyes above him before his head had been thrown back with a shout, the heavy pulse and rush of liquid heat inside him as Dean spent himself, reared back like a pagan god had wrung from him the most intense climax he had yet experienced. They had woken the next morning to reports of a sudden, freak power outage spread across the entire motel complex. Dean had been smug. Castiel had nearly combusted with the fierceness of his blushing.

 

Weeks went by without either of them mentioning Castiel's fevered slip of the tongue. They made love countless times, each time perfectly passionate, perfectly satisfying, but neither of them could put to words that tiny little _something_ that was missing, neither of them willing to admit to the craving that had bubbled to the surface, the powerful temptation to shatter the wall between one forbidden desire and the next.

 

Dean, as was so wonderfully, infuriatingly characteristic of his humanity, smashed through that tenebrous barrier with all of the grace and ignorance of a charging bull, with a singular, hoarse-voiced demand.

 

_Castiel was pressed face down on sour, bleach-smelling sheets, every inch of his shuddering body covered by Dean, space between their bodies nonexistent, rutting his cock into the mattress counter to every spine-cracking thrust of Dean's cock, desperate for the friction he needed to fling himself over that precipice of pain-pleasure to release. It was always like this after a hunt, Dean was always like this; adrenaline and lust streaking brilliant, bold colors over the searing brightness of his soul, driving them together in a mad rush to feel each other break apart at the end of each brutal slam of skin on skin, a primal celebration of defeating those who would challenge them, rough reassurance of their survival with each breathless, punched-out gasp. Dean's lips, his teeth were at Castiel's throat, fingertips digging bruises that he would lavish with attention the next morning at his shoulder and hip as he fucked into Castiel's willing body with ruthless abandon. Breath rasped over the shell of his ear, low and growling, sending a thrill of irrational fear singing through his raw nerves. In moments like these, Castiel was lightening-struck with the beauty of this human, was starkly reminded why this man who gave of everything he had in_ everything _he did, why this man was the true vessel of the fiercest of the archangels. Pride and pleasure sucker-punched in his gut, electric as Dean bit out a curse when he clenched hard around the length buried inside him. He gasped when a hand fisted in his hair, pulling his head back sharply, Dean's teeth grinding into his earlobe. “Say it, Cas. Scream it for me.”_

 

He had refused, fought against the wicked temptation to scream his father's name in the throes of such base carnality as to put a horde of incubi to shame. His refusal had sparked an inferno within them both, Dean driving into him harder and harder, riding Castiel's body up the bed until they had exploded simultaneously, shouting themselves hoarse as the lights in the motel complex blew. Again.

 

There was to be no denial after that. It became their little game. Dean would push him with hands and mouth and body to the brink of release, whisper the words that were less of a request now than they were an order in his ear. When Castiel would refuse he would slow, sometimes stop completely until Castiel came down, and then begin his torment anew. In the beginning, Castiel had given in shamefully quickly, addicted to the thrill of such a taboo act, but soon he found himself holding off longer, and longer, _needing_ to drag the sharp pleasure out and out until he lost that careful control.

 

Driving to the next town the morning after they had destroyed the lighting in the fourth motel in as many weeks, an extremely uncomfortable Sam had cleared his throat, and spoke low and quickly, fixedly staring out of the window to avoid eye contact. He had mentioned that they should look into some type of grace-binding spell for when they did...what they did or take stock in buying light bulbs, because he couldn't do research if there weren't any lights. Dean had been smug. Castiel had slunk down in the front seat, ears and cheeks burning bright red.

 

Castiel hadn't given much thought to the supple, moleskin-lined cuffs when he'd created them, rather thinking they were the most efficient way to bind his grace without the need to carve and draw sigils in blood every time. For while his vessel's skin was healed with a thought, their passions rather often struck them at a moment's notice, and unless Dean had some heretofore hidden desire to watch him bleeding (Castiel had noticed that Dean never hesitated to slice his own skin if needed, but putting blade to the flesh of someone else made his eyes go hard and his hands shake), it would likely 'kill the mood' to have to do so.

 

Dean's reaction, however, to the butter soft red leather, to the sharp contrast of the intricate sigils burned there, had been...very pleasantly surprising. He'd looked down at the cuffs, resting on Castiel's outstretched palms, and green eyes had snapped back up to his so fast it looked inhuman. A tiny muscle in Dean's jaw worked, breath slowly starting to deepen, gaze wandering back to the cuffs. Castiel's breath caught in his chest at the dark, hungry look on that face.

 

The first test of the cuffs had been a spectacular success, and they'd never looked back.

 

Castiel was brought back to Earth with a sharp thrust that smashed directly into that perfect bundle of nerves that sent searing spikes of heat straight to his cock. Gasping his eyes flew open to find Dean's locked onto his face, the tense furrow of his brow, the slack gape of his mouth as he pulled air into his lungs.

 

The slow, steady pace resumed, but with every second or third thrust, Dean's fingers clenched tight into the soft flesh of his ass and angled his hips just enough that the entire length of his cock dragged against that spot. A whining, desperate moan grew within Castiel's chest. “Oh, G....Dean, please...I...I can't...can't hold on....” Dean growled low in his throat, fingertips digging harder as the next thrust came hard and fast. “ _Say. It.”_

 

Hands slipped from beneath him to the crooks of his knees, and Dean pressed his legs back, nearly folding him in half as his cock slammed home deep, so good, so hard, only to pull back infuriatingly slowly. “C'mon, angel. Say it for me.” The words were spoken in a soft murmur against his lips, and his tongue darted out to taste the salty sweat beaded there. Dean was just as desperate as he, and Castiel could feel the measured control in each thrust, the power in those strong hips held back. He tugged hard on the cuffs tethering him to the headboard and clenched hard around Dean, watching with a small sense of triumph as Dean choked out a groan and lost that easy, perfect rhythm, fucking into him hard and fast, eyes squeezed shut as his weight and the fury of his pounding pushed Castiel deeper into the mattress.

 

Castiel longed to set nails into Dean's back as he held on for all of Heaven and Earth against the pure, awesome beauty of Dean's frenzied thrusting. As it was, he fisted his hands around the connecting chain of the cuffs and wrapped his legs around Dean's back, digging his heels in as the pleasure built, and built, until he felt that at any moment it would burst his skin, splitting him apart into ruin for this man. Dean's face was pressed hard into the crook of Castiel's shoulder and neck, teeth setting in around his flesh, both too breathless to make much more than gasps and grunts. Just as his orgasm began to crest that shining summit of _too much_ , he sucked in a huge, shrieking breath, held for one second, two. The air burst from his lungs in a screaming, desperate cry for freedom.

 

“Oh _God_! Oh God, _Dean_! Please now!!!” Dean's teeth locked in harder, breaking the skin, his animalistic growl vibrating through every atom of Castiel's being. His cock slammed harder and harder, with one final, bruising thrust that Castiel could swear he could feel in his throat, and he was filled with a white hot blast of Dean's release, and _that_   was the key in the lock of his self-imposed bondage. His neck strained against Dean's mouth still tight around him, and threw his head back with a wailing moan as his own orgasm shot slick and hot between their still frantically moving bodies, each pulsing wave harder than the last. Dean rode him through it as they came down slowly, lips moving from his neck to claim his own. Castiel tasted the sweat of his own skin, and the faint copper tang as he licked into Dean's mouth. Fumbling fingers released his hands from the cuffs, and he was free to wrap his arms around broad shoulders, finally.

 

They broke apart, gasping and laughing with each twitching aftershock and simply laid pressed as they were, fingers stroking, soothing. Dean dropped tender kisses on the fading raw bruises on each wrist, and Castiel pulled his face up to claim those plush lips softly, lovingly. They fell asleep, just like that, both too exhausted to move to get cleaned up.

 

A grumpy looking Sam found them the next morning in the diner across from the motel. He slid into the booth and took in the sated, well-fucked looks on both of their faces and his own screwed up into one of his 'bitchfaces'. The waitress shuffled over on tired feet and took their order, Sam's eyes flashing as he waited for their audience to leave, calling out their orders to the kitchen. He huffed out a long-suffering sigh, eyes Heaven-ward as if for guidance. “You guys need to find a freaking noise-canceling spell. If I had known Cas could scream that loud, I would have gone to a different motel.” He shot a poisoned glare their way. Dean looked smug. A small, satisfied smile spread over Castiel's face. He was too blissed out to even think about blushing.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Snarkymonkey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymonkey) wrote me [library porn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1010573) so that i would finish this.
> 
> :D
> 
> so sorry it took me forever to do! 
> 
> Like it? Leave me feedback! The more you give me love, the more I'll write :D


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